


Of Wargs and Sirens

by ankheclipse



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bolg's Mother, F/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oneshot, Siren song, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankheclipse/pseuds/ankheclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder where Bolg came from? Who is his mother?</p>
<p>Also a little Greek myth thrown in for fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Wargs and Sirens

Aysun ran with all her might toward the forest. If she could get to the treeline, she would have a chance of outrunning the Orcs. Her legs burned like fire and her lungs felt like salt in a wound. She wished she could unleash her wings, to fly into the pale, winter sun and be free of this place. But she had worked too hard to secure her image as a human to let an Orc ruin it. The ground vibrated with every step the Warg took toward her, filling her heart with terror. Only a few feet to go…  
Hot breath sweltered on the back of her neck and she dared not look back. Just a final push was all she needed and she would be free. Each frenzied step seemed agonizingly slow and she felt a massive hand grasp the back of her dress, lifting her off her feet. She screamed in despair, clutching to the thin branch she had managed to reach. It broke in her hand and the wind was knocked out of her when her stomach hit the Warg’s back. It stank of rotten flesh and death and the rough hair stuck through her skin. Her emotions fluctuated between horror that she had been caught, and disgust that she hadn’t been able to escape. The Warg was faster than any horse and she knew she wouldn’t survive a fall. Still clutching the branch as if it were her last hope, she jabbed it into the Orc’s leg, hoping to break the tough skin and slow down enough to jump. After an irritated yelp, he snatched the branch protruding from his leg and threw it to the ground.   
Tears fell from her eyes as she writhed to get away, but his grasp was too strong and she finally resigned herself to conserving her energy so she could escape once they stopped. 

Smoke from the burning village burned her eyes and she wondered if everyone had been killed. She had lived so long as a human that she wondered if she would feel sorrow when they died. But she was glad the vile men that populated it were gone. She couldn’t think of a single person she would weep for. It had been less a village and more a soldier’s camp, full of crass men and their prostitutes. The only children were in their teens, mostly boys that would grow to be just like the men around them. She had been the camp’s healer, and many times she had been tempted to let them die in their filth, rather than save them.   
But being captured by Orc’s hadn’t been part of her plan either.  
Looking around was almost fruitless, all she could see were other Wargs, all running as a single, massive unit. They seemed to be speaking to one another, and she almost saw a smile on one. Or, what could be construed as a smile. More like a gaping wound filled with teeth. 

They ran all night. The ground changed many times, and they seemed to pass every terrain from mountain, to stream, to desert. When they finally slowed to a walk, the ground was rocky and brutal. Even the armor-like pads of the Warg’s feet shed a little blood and she could feel them trying not to limp.   
The air grew dank and smelled of blood as they entered some kind of enclosure. She guessed it was a cave, and though she tried to arch her back to see, the hand firmly on her back prevented her from going far. At long last they came to a stop and she took a tender breath, the bruising on her torso beginning to ache. A couple of horrible looking Orcs pulled her off the warg by her arms, letting her legs fall to the ground. She was taller than they were, but not stronger and they easily pulled her to a cell and tossed her in. She instantly turned to see where she was, too look for a way out. The wargs stretched and yawned after their journey. They reminded her of farm dogs, done with a day’s work. A couple diminutive Orcs tossed them huge chunks of bloody meat, which, by the clothes still dangling from them, she recognized as some of the soldiers from the camp. There was very little fighting amongst the Wargs, and any tussles were resolved quickly by a snarl from the mighty, white Warg who was obviously the leader.   
She licked the blood from her fur when she was done eating, and headed for a place to rest. Unlike her underlings, who sought for a spare corner or unused crate to use as a bed, she walked directly to a previous bedding spot. She snuffled the straw a little, perhaps searching for any stray vermin that might have claimed the spot as their own, and lay down.   
The hierarchy amongst such vicious creatures fascinated Aysun and she hoped that she would be able to distinguish some pattern that would allow her to escape. 

The Orcs, on the other hand...They didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to their actions. Some fought in a corner, others reorganized piles of useless trash, and still others were trying to bandage their own wounds. They were a vile, disgusting race and she felt like she could despise them even more than she had despised humans.   
There was no sign of the Orc who’s leg she had stuck, although, it would have been difficult to tell them apart by a single wound. They all seemed wounded, each more pitiful than the last. Some tried to mix herbs, but they used things that would cause infection to spread, or that would attract flies. She shook her head, wondering how the race had survived as long as it had. It must have been their fury and determination that prevented extinction, because it certainly wasn’t intelligence.   
A larger one scrambled over to her cell and smacked the bars with a sword, snarling something that she couldn’t understand. She took a step back and he looked satisfied enough to walk away. Perhaps she wasn’t allowed to stand so close to the bars…

\--

It only took her keen ears a few days before she began understanding their language. Once she figured out that it wasn’t really a language, but a collection of many languages that she already knew, the translating became easier. Also, the very limited vocabulary made things even easier. The obvious words for food, kill, and Warg seemed to be common themes.   
General mayhem continued throughout the first couple days, but finally the Orcs seemed to tire of doing nothing, and decided to sleep. They huddled in piles against the cold, and a couple sat as close to sleeping Wargs as they dared. 

\--

She had missed the beginning of the fight she was watching, but soon every Orc had formed a circle around the two fighters and were chanting for them to kill the other. The noise of a hundred screaming monsters was deafening and she put her hands over her ears. After a few minutes, the noise grew monotonous and a single voice broke through the jeering. The noise instantly stopped and she peered through, wondering if a leader had finally emerged.   
What she saw turned her stomach but she couldn’t stop watching.   
The previously chanting beasts were cowering in fear at the behest of a single, gigantic Orc that held one of the fighters in the air by his armor.   
He looked at them tauntingly and hurled the unlucky fighter toward pack of hungry Wargs.   
His voice was deep and commanding as he motioned menacingly to the others, speaking in a Dark language that had been unfettered by other bastardized words, “Do not think I wouldn’t kill each one of you.” he said. The noise of the Wargs eating made his words more terrifying and even Aysun took a step back into the shadow of her cell. 

He didn’t look like any of the other Orcs. His enormous body was a pale white, and his eyes glistened a piercing blue. The deep scars that covered his body were not half hazard marks from enemy swords, but looked intentional. His ears were small and pointed gently back, a reminder of his Elfish roots. There was no hair on his body and he seemed cleaner than his charges. He held his head high and did not slink in the shadows. She watched him place his hand gently on the White Warg’s head, petting her as though she were a house cat. She closed her eyes and let his nails dig into her scalp, enjoying the attention. And like a cat, when she was done, she snapped her powerful jaws at him. He smiled and pushed her head away before walking toward the cells.   
Aysun sat down in the corner, hoping he wouldn’t notice her, but took a deep breath when he stood outside the cage and looked in.   
His left leg had a small puncture in it, that looked fresh and infected. She knew the branch she had jabbed into her captor’s leg had been from a poison tree, and she instantly realized who he was. 

“Why do you cower?” he jabbed. 

She stood up tall, still a good foot and a half shorter than he, and began walking. “Why am I here?” she said in human-speak, pretending not to understand him. 

He narrowed his eyes, obviously not understanding her, “Enough of these games, woman. I know you understand me.”

She contemplated continuing her farce, but decided to give it up, “Very well.” She spoke his language, “Why am I still alive?”

“Because I haven’t killed you yet.” he said plainly  
The way an evil wind can whisper through the trees and cause a chill, his voice made her hair stand on end. He snickered and walked away.

His answer made her question even more pressing on her mind. What did the pale Orc have in mind for her?  
She had heard of his merciless ways, and knew there was nothing she could do to dispel him or defend herself. He had come by his nickname “Azog, The Defiler” honestly and she did not intend to become one of his victims. 

\--

Sleep did not come easily that night and she startled awake at the slightest noise. Nightmares of her captor plagued her and she tried singing in her head to block out the visions of what might happen to her. It only helped a little and soon she just sat up, gripping her knees and praying for an epiphany. 

The Orcs rose slowly, their dark days not ruled by the rising and setting of the sun. Some of them seemed to have a higher tolerance for sunlight, and others only ventured out in the darkest hours. They brought back fuel for the fires and food for the others. Sometimes they would drag in a squirming soldier, tossing him to the Wargs in a frenzy of blood and growling. Some of the lesser Orcs took great delight in taunting the Wargs, a humor they often paid for with limbs, or in one clumsy occasion, their life. They brought her barely cooked meat and some sort of liquid that made her want to vomit.   
Everything changed when the Pale Orc was around. They kept to their work and didn’t brawl as much. They walked with heads down, fearing his every glance as though it would be their death. He had no problems killing them if displeased and they all knew it. 

She had noticed his leg growing worse in the days she had been here. He walked with a slight limp and had tried pouring the foul beverage on it the night before. But it only grew more infected and inflamed. If left untreated, she knew it could kill him, or at least eat away part of his leg, causing serious illness. The poison worked much the way a spider’s venom worked, causing tissue breakdown and slow paralysis. 

Her stomach growled as she watched them roast a wild boar over a fire. When it was done, she watched in disgust as they tore it apart and feasted. Azog happened to glance at her, and noticing her hungry eyes, ripped a chunk off and headed toward her.   
Her hunger outweighed her fear of him and she reached an arm through the crude bars.   
He held it just out of reach, letting her fingers graze across it, smiling as she reached further and further. “Please!” She pleaded  
He cocked his head to the side, watching her struggle and leaned down to look her in the eyes. “A favor for a favor?” he asked

The idea of his “Favor” terrified her and she looked at the feast dangling from his hand. He held it closer, letting her tear off a tiny bite which she stuffed in her mouth. She instantly began salivating and her fear seemed miniscule in comparison. “Yes.”   
He looked at her, not moving. 

“YES!” She shouted.

He laughed and tossed the meat into the cell, walking away slowly, “I will be back to collect my favor later.” were the words he left her with. 

She devoured the delicious meat, not giving his words a second thought until all was quiet again. Her stomach was full, not giving her the excuse to think only of hunger and she thought of her promise. A tear fell from her weary eyes and she looked at her cell. He would surely kill her, and she was in disbelief that after everything she had been through, after all she had lost, she was going to die in an Orcish prison. At least, she thought, she would be killed by the greatest of their kind. Not some puny grunt that was shorter and dumber than she.   
Somewhere in the height of her despair, she heard a soft padding outside her door. It sounded like something big walking quietly and her heart fell.  
The beginning of the end.   
She took a deep breath, mustering her courage, refusing to look weak as she heard a key squeal against the rust in the lock.   
It was far too dark for her eyes to adjust and she was blinded by a sudden light. When she removed her hands from her burning eyes, she realized that a single candle had been lit and placed on a crude shelf. Azog stood in the doorway, his back to her, locking the cell. If she had managed to hide a sword in her skirts, she could not have thought of a better time to plunge it into his back. Muscles wrapped tightly around his massive skeleton, making it easy to find a kill spot and she could have rid the world of a foul tyrant.   
He had removed his boots and leg straps before he entered, such was the padding sound she had heard.   
“Where is your bag of tricks?” he turned toward her  
She realized she hadn’t moved since seeing him and she looked up, genuinely confused. “What?”  
“Your bag of healing magic.”  
She thought of the herb satchel hanging from her belt. “My herbs?”  
“Yes.” 

Her hand went instinctively to the small pouch, “Why?”  
“You are going to heal my leg.” he stated  
She blinked, “Is that my favor?” she could hardly believe her good fortune.

“Yes. Be quick.”

She felt lightheaded and looked at his intimidating figure. He could hardly stand straight in the small cell and she motioned to the corner. “You need to sit down.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her sternly, “I am warning you, Witch. Do not try to kill me. It will not end well for you.”

She nodded slowly and watched him wince as he sat. Blood trickled from the gaping hole in his leg and she spread out her tools. The pouch was “Bigger on the inside” as they say and she kept a great deal of healing supplies in it. 

He watched her every move as she arranged the herbs she would need and held a tiny knife over the candle. 

“Do you intend to stab me with your splinter?” he snickered

She didn’t answer his snide remark, nor did she tell him that there was a tiny piece of the thorn in his leg, and if he would only have removed it, he would be healing instead of growing weaker.   
She minced the herbs with her knife, blending them together in a bowl and spitting in it to form a paste.   
She had leaned forward to smear it on his leg when he leaned toward her. His scarred face was inches from her own and she could hear his teeth grinding, “Remove the thorn.”  
She breathed out, wishing he were as stupid as his soldiers. “I have to put this on first.” lying as though she had always intended on removing it.  
He leaned back, continuing to watch her.   
“Don’t you trust me?” she said mockingly  
It was his turn to remain silent and he did not utter a word or sound as she dug around his wound with little regard to his pain. 

He refused a bandage and insisted that she sew the herbs inside his wound so he wouldn’t have to bother with a changing a dressing. Although it wasn’t the correct way to heal him, she hadn’t wanted to give him any more reason to enter her cell, so she agreed and he left.

\--

In the weeks that followed, she found herself with a supply of better food and clean water to drink. She wondered if it was Azog’s way of thanking her for healing his leg, but she didn’t care. Her nights were still spent thinking of ways to escape and her days were full of tending injured Orcs. Although a bath would have helped them more than her remedies, she was glad to have something to do. Even if it was tending the enemy, at least she got to leave her cell. The Wargs left her alone, seeming to sense what she was, but the Orcs were too stupid to wonder.   
In a self-serving move, she had also taken over much of the meat cooking. She ignored what species they brought her, and just put it over the fire, for the proper amount of time. It disgusted her to think that she had become a mother figure for a breed of creatures that were spawned from the devil and breed with elves and men for strength and numbers. That she was actively helping. And yet, it gave her a sense of purpose, and it was better than rotting in a prison. It also gave her a way to discover a way out, if there were any. 

She lay on her bed that she had made from straw and the cloak of the dead soldier she had roasted for dinner and thought of every possible way to escape. Fantasies of grabbing a blade and hacking her way out seemed about as possible as falling in love with the wretched creatures.   
The thought was sudden and appalling to her. Mainly because it had taken her so long to think of it. She knew the siren’s song was only supposed to work on human’s weak, oversexed souls, but there was a faint chance she could ensnare one of the creatures in her song and force them to set her free.  
The plan was so simple and she rested her head on an arm, sleeping well for the first time since she had been underground. 

\--

Yazneg watched in disgust as Aysun carved the ox into manageable pieces and placed them over the fire. Her gentle movements and beauty repulsed him and he glanced at Azog, about to say something vile about her. He was about to look away when he realized that they were both watching the same thing. Only he didn’t see disgust in his leader’s eyes.   
Vomit threatened at the back of his throat and he looked back at the woman, wondering if he missed something.   
“My lord.” he questioned quietly, “What do you stare at?”

The silence angered the hunter and he asked again, “Do you hunger for the lovely ox we are to feast on?” he was hopeful that Azog was pleased with the ox, and not lusting after some horrendous wench. 

“No, I do not.”

Yazneg’s spirits fell, his hope dashed. He had never lost respect for Azog before. The daring deeds in battle, his vicious leadership, and superior skill in war were all things that he loved about his leader. But this...newfound desire...it was almost unbearable. 

“Well if you want her so badly, why don’t you just take her?” he said angrily

“You would do well to hold your tongue, Yazneg.” was the chilling response. 

He decided to not say anything against the human, and instead he would prove that she was as vile a creature as any they would slay.

\--

Aysun walked to her usual spot by the fire after her cell was unlocked. She had saved part of yesterday’s ox to cook and even though the Orcs generally ate the entire thing, bones and all, she wasn’t strong enough to skewer an entire ox and lift it over the raging fire.   
She felt a little nervous about her plan. If anything went wrong, she would die one way or another. And if they suspected her of being a siren, the sniveling rat named Yazneg would put her on the skewer with the ox. She despised the filthy, brown-nosed creature and she suspected he hated her with the same intensity. 

Sirens sing with as much ease as our hearts beat, or our lungs breath. Words come easily to them, melody is their nature. But the song of a spell is an entirely different thing. They sing it intentionally and vehemently. It must be carefully tailored to each victim. The words molded to suit their particular weakness. It was easy to lure a human man to his death. She remembered Greek men flinging themselves into the water, chasing her song. She would embrace them happily, watching the life leave their eyes as she took them further into the deep. She and her sisters would feast on the fallen sailors after nightfall, and spend the days chatting with the Mermaids. (coincidentally, another human hating species).

But it had been hundreds of years since she used her song, and she had never been a prisoner. The cave, surrounded by enemies was a far cry from her rocky home where she was queen of the night.   
At first, a small hum was all she could muster, but soon she began feeling the fire in her chest and words begged to escape her lungs.   
She sang a soft song, something inviting, something subtle. The Orcs didn’t seem to take notice, and she grew bolder as she worked. 

Yazneg held his hands to his ears. What was that terrible racket?! He had never heard such an unpleasant noise in his life, and he wondered if someone was dying. He looked around, taking note of the activities. His eyes darted around until he saw Aysun. Instantly, his eyes narrowed and he felt angry. She would be the one making such a noise.   
He looked wide-eyed over his shoulder at Azog, ready for her to die. Surely his leader had to hear that she was as horrible as the rotten Dwarves he was so keen on chasing all over Middle Earth. 

Azog sat with his chin on his fist, flipping through the maps he had gotten from the Dwarves. He wished he could read the language surrounding the shapes of land, but it was no use. Mental notes of the cities’ names were all he had to go by, and Orcs didn’t generally keep maps, so it was altogether unknown to him.   
He rubbed his eyes, sick of looking through useless papers and old maps. Angry and tired, he dashed them to the ground and stood up.   
He noticed Yazneg holding his ears as though his brains were leaking out.   
“What are you doing?”

Yazneg looked up, wide eyed, “Don’t you hear her!” it wasn’t really a question, more of an appalled exclamation. “She is hurting my ears!”

Azog ignored the pathetic Orc and walked away. 

The blatant disgust on Azog’s face was not new, nor did it shock him. However, the reason for the disgust offended him. He wanted his king to feel horror when he looked at the Human. To feel hatred. Yazneg wanted to believe in his leader again, not question him. 

The shrieking sound coming from the human’s throat was enough to drive him from the cave into the sunlight. Thick fog shrouded his skin from the biting rays of the sun, and he rubbed his throbbing head. What was he going to do? He knew if he killed the prisoner, then Azog would feed him to the Wargs. But something had to be done. 

“What brings you outside, little Orc?”

The warg’s voice startled Azog and he tried to recover from his jump. The white Warg flicked her tail behind her, sending puffs of dust in every direction. 

“I…” he couldn’t think of a reason

She sat down, wrapping her tail around her legs like a cat, staring at him with steely blue eyes. Waiting for him to answer. She wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to watch her least favourite Orc squirm. If Azog hadn’t forbidden it, she would have eaten him long ago. 

“I thought I heard something.”

“Indeed.”

Yazneg glanced around nervously. The Warg made him nervous and he suddenly found the cave to be a much better situation than the current one. 

\--

Azog let his eyes wander around the cave. Nearly everyone was sleeping. Most of the Wargs had taken over a corner by the roaring fire. Every so often one would open an eye, licking it’s lips as it smelled the ox cooking. Then it would tuck it’s head under a paw and continue sleeping. 

He didn’t see Yazneg, and figured that he had fallen asleep somewhere out of sight. Just as well. He was tired of listening to the constant whining and complaining.   
The heat from the fire and silence from Yazneg’s departure pulled on his eyelids. He hadn’t slept in a week, and he could feel the pressure behind his eyes. There wasn’t much to prevent him from falling asleep, and he propped his head on a fist and allowed his eyes to close. 

\--

Aysun continued to sing to herself. She had been watching the Orcs while she worked, trying to determine which one she was going to try to ensnare. They all seemed so similar that she was having a difficult time personalizing a song. Nevertheless, she continued to hum to herself.   
When the ox had finished cooking, and had been consumed, she went up to her cell. They no longer bothered locking the door behind her. She wasn’t sure if it was because she closed it, or if they just didn’t care. She felt only slightly protected with the door shut. The only real security it provided was alarm. The hinges were so squeaky that any movement or attempt to open it would certainly wake her. It was always dark in her cell, but her eyes had grown accustomed to the cave, and it didn’t bother her.   
She knew she had to go to the surface to replenish her herbs, and she wondered what guards would be sent with her. Or if she would even be allowed to leave. 

CLICK.

The sound of her cell being locked startled her and she whirled around.   
Yazneg was peering through the crude bars, his teeth bared in a mock smile. Part of an ear was missing and he had blood dripping onto his shoulder.  
“It looks like you lost a fight with a gerbil.” She taunted  
His eyes widened with rage and he spat toward her, “You will not leave this cell, human scum.” he hissed

She raised her head, trying to appear less phased than she was. Dread filled the air and she watched him walk away, swinging the keychain.   
What made him lock her in tonight? What did they have planned? Or was he just feeling feisty? She had seen him arguing with Azog, something that never ended well for the opposing party. 

\--

Azog’s elbow slipped off the chair arm and he started awake. Quickly taking inventory of the surroundings, he noticed the ox was gone.   
How he had managed to sleep through dinner, he didn’t know. 

He rose, stretching his arms above his head, tilting his neck and letting the bones grind back into place. His leg still tingled from the wound and he rubbed it gingerly. It didn’t seem to be healing as quickly as it could.   
Most of the Orcs were on patrol, looking for trouble and trespassers.   
He walked quietly to the Human’s cell, pulling lightly on the door. When it didn’t budge, he pulled a little more. A deep breath of irritation escaped him and he reached for the keyring at his belt.   
Gone.   
Instantly angry, he snarled and looked around the cave with narrowed eyes. Who was going to pay?

Yazneg.

He was incredibly quiet for a creature of his size, and Yazneg never heard the furious Orc coming. The keys were heavier than Yazneg had thought they would be and he looked them over by the fire. They glinted with the licks of flame and he twisted them around in his hand.   
Suddenly they clanged against the ground as he reached for his throat. Someone was choking him and he desperately looked behind him to see his attacker. He began simpering when he saw Azog’s cold glare. His vision became blurred and he clawed at the huge hand around his windpipe. His legs weren’t long enough to do any damage and the grasp was too tight to squirm away from.   
Finally, when he was seconds from passing out, Azog threw him to the ground and swiped up the keys.   
“Learn your place, Yazneg. Or she will show it to you.” he ran a hand over the white Warg’s mane and walked away.   
She licked her lips menacingly and followed her master. 

Azog strode up the stairs and slid the key into the door. He could see Aysun on her bed, clutching her knees and staring at him. He walked to her bed and wrenched on the key. The old metal squealed under the pressure before finally breaking from its ring, and he handed it to her. “No one is to lock you in here, except me. You are free to come and go as you wish.”

She blinked, “How will you lock the door if I have the key?

“I will take it from you.” he answered and sat beside her. 

The answer was almost unsettling, but it was nice to know that no one else could lock her in, or, if she wanted to lock herself in, there was no way to get to her. She quickly dropped the key into her skirt pocket, feeling its weight against her leg  
“Why are you here?”

He pointed to his swollen leg. Welts had gathered around the wound and it was beginning to turn black. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, and he just wanted it to stop. 

“It is getting better.” she said, hardly looking at it.

He lunged at her, wrapping a hand around her throat, “That is what you keep saying, witch. And if that is true, then why does it continue to fester?”

She dug her nails into his wrist, slipping her thin neck from his grasp, “It IS healing!!” She snapped. Her eyes flashed red and she felt the dull throb of her teeth grinding together. “Why do you ask me if you refuse to listen to what I say? Why not just heal yourself if you are going to be so stubborn.”

He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth. There was nothing he could do to prove she wasn’t telling the truth, and she was much more valuable alive. It angered him that healing took time. Wounds were so swift, so easy to inflict; but the healing...took time and patience. 

She crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised defiantly. “There isn’t anything more I can do for it. It is just going to take time.”

“I Don’t have time.” He snapped, “I need health.” He looked at her limp pouch. “You need to visit the surface for more herbs, yes?”

She nodded.

“Come. We will go now.”

Breath caught in her throat. She had intended to escape while gathering. If her guards had been smaller Orcs it would have been possible. But even in his wounded state, there was no way she could outpower Azog.   
He grabbed her wrist and began walking, whistling for his Warg.   
She lept onto the balcony, eyes blazing with hatred for Aysun.   
Azog tossed her onto the Warg’s back, riding behind her. He spoke to his Warg in a tone that she had never heard, another language. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it.   
The Warg understood him, and answered him in the same growling language. It unsettled Aysun that she didn’t understand them, but she was glad for the ride to the surface. The walk to get out of the caves was long and winding. Even Orcs that had been navigating the halls for months still got lost, but the Wargs seemed to know exactly which turns to take. Since she wasn’t fearing for her life, she took time to appreciate the architecture of the mines. The original builders of the halls, the Dwarves, were truly masters of their craft. Every stone was perfectly chiseled, each beam perfectly hewn. The halls seemed to end as soon as she began looking, and soon they had reached a massive door. The great Orc leaned forward and slid a key into the lock. Mechanisms shifted in the door as though a great beast had been awoken and was stretching its limbs. She could almost taste freedom. Her wings tingled, begging to be released from their invisibility spell. A quick thought of shedding her human farce tempted her; but she stayed strong. If Azog knew she was a Siren, and she failed to escape, he would kill her…or worse. 

The fresh air hit her like a slap in the face and she suddenly realized how stuffy the mine was. Her lungs filled with the crisp morning air and dew sparkled on the leaves around her. The urge to fly away was almost unbearable, and she tried to swallow the desire to bolt. She knew she needed a plan, needed to have the element of surprise, otherwise she would never make it. 

“What are you looking for?” he stopped the Warg and slid off “Gather what you need quickly. There are Dwarves close by.”

She looked at the horizon, “I don’t see any.”

He widened his eyes and threw her pouch at her, “Just gather your weeds!”

The pouch smacked her arm and she snatched it on its way to the ground. Some of the herbs she needed were growing wild along the outside of the mine. Fragrant vines gripped tightly to the crumbling sides of the door frame, and powerful medicines hid in the guise of tender shoots.   
“You’re trampling your medicine!” She was suddenly annoyed and hit his leg, “Just stop walking!”

Startled, he froze and looked down. He had never been smacked by...anyone. 

The warg watched Aysun start gathering herbs. Her white eyes followed the human’s every move, narrowing in disdain. Something wasn’t right, and she didn’t trust her, no matter how blind Azog was. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t resist snapping at her.   
The look that Aysun shot back was only a very small part shock. The rest was a sneering glance that made the formidable beast’s heart tremble. Never had she witnessed such control over obvious hatred. It was obviously everything the human could do to contain her anger, and the Warg suddenly saw right through her. She let her pass, and with Azog still on her back, took off toward his chambers. Despite his commands for her to stop and let him down, she continued. She didn’t want anyone else, especially Yazneg, to hear what she had discovered. 

\--

Azog didn’t so much as blink when he was told that the Human he had been lusting after was a Siren. The Warg snarled at him, but he hardly cared. He had suspected something from the start. She hadn’t seemed...human enough. After a few moments spent assuring his companion that he wasn’t a fool, she left. He let her go, knowing it wouldn’t have done any good to make her stay. He contemplated what she had said. Was the Siren really trying to seduce him? The Warg had thought that she was planning an escape, and he wanted to agree with her; but why hadn’t she tried escaping yet? Was she really so patient that she would abide something that she hated for so long? He wouldn’t have…

\--

The dark cell wasn’t as horrible as it had once been. Aysun wasn’t sure if she had gotten used to the dank smell, or if it had improved. Although, the former seemed more likely. An occasional rat still ran through, but she had eaten enough of them to dwindle the population down. Now only select rats were bold, or perhaps dumb, enough to scurry by. The key rested lightly against her leg and she felt safe. It was curious that she felt safer in an Orc prison than she ever felt in the Human camp. At least these creatures left her alone, for the most part.

The restful feeling did not come without a price however. More than once she had woken up to find herself back in Siren form. Her wings folded around her, her teeth long and slender. The tattoos she had carefully given herself laced in and out of the feathers protruding from her back and made their way to her scalp. It wasn’t human enough, and even an Orc would instantly recognize her.  
As she bundled the herbs for drying and hung them in her cell, she couldn’t help wondering where The white warg had taken Azog when she had been gathering. He hadn’t been gone long enough for her to escape, not that she knew which direction to go even if she could have outrun the wargs.

The thoughts were broken by a monstrous clanging. Instantly on guard, her first thought went to the creature that purportedly lived underneath the cave. Balrog. Something the Orcs seemed hellbent on worshiping as a deity, but terrified her. However, the confusion of the Orcs told her it was something else.  
Her best bet seemed to be staying in her cell, and she watched in fascination as the Orcs ran about, grabbing weapons and shields. She hadn’t seen them so organized since she had arrived, and it was nearly impressive how quickly they prepared for battle. There didn’t seem to be anything to fight, but the earthquake-like sound had not stopped and she wondered if there was something above ground. If it was, there was an enormous army.   
Seemingly as quickly as the noise started, the Orcs had left the tunnels. 

The noise did not stop for days. The cave was suddenly all her own, and every sound from above the surface echoed in her ears. She wasn’t sure if the noise was growing dimmer, or if she was becoming deaf, but it seemed like it was getting quieter. She took the time to clean her room and wander down tunnels that she had never dared/been allowed to go down when the Orcs were here.   
She hoped the sound was a battle, and that the Orcs were dying. It would certainly be easier to escape if they were all dead or wounded. She smiled at the macabre thought and continued her curious journey down a tunnel.   
Screaming halted her steps, and she heard swift footsteps coming toward her. She ran back to the main living area, away from the screams and waited. She would have a better chance of fighting if she were there. Anxious tremors rustled the feathers on her wings and she bared her teeth, ready for the kill.   
What she saw did not make her want to kill. It was not a ferocious pack of Orcs. Nor a filthy band of Humans. It was Azog.   
He was covered in blood and cradling his arm, his terrifying face was twisted in pain and he limped toward the fire.   
She stayed crouched behind a crate, watching the formidable creature cry over his wounds. A hand and part of his arm were missing. Lost in battle she assumed. He gritted his teeth and thrust the bleeding arm into the fire, shrieking as he cauterized the wound.   
THe smell of burnt flesh was unbearable and she lept from her hiding spot, wrenching his arm from the fire.   
He was too weak to hit her away, but surprise took over his face. His eyes begged her to help him and his legs collapsed under him. In her true form, she was almost as tall as he, although much more slender. Her elongated, lean limbs were incredibly strong and she supported him while he walked to her cell.   
He fit on her pile of furs nicely and she forced him to lay on his back. “Just lay still!” she sneered, pinning his shoulders down. He had lost a huge amount of blood, which was the only way she overpowered him. He didn’t trust her and continued to fight against her assistance. She opened her mouth to scream at him, but a gentle melody fell from her lips instead.   
It was an easy song, more about hypnosis than seduction, and she was pleased it was working on him. He relaxed under her spell, paralyzed by her words. She continued singing softly while she fetched the water she had set by the fire. It was already hot and she dipped a towel into it. Blood and dirt quickly made the water thick as she cleaned his wounds. Once satisfied that all the debris was out of the deep gashes, she began mixing herbs.   
The continued song kept him quiet as she smeared the sweet smelling paste on him.   
She knew it hurt, the tree sap and hot peppers saw to that, but it was necessary if he was going to heal. 

She watched him sleep and let her song trail off, wondering if he would be okay. It was the first time she had felt anything for another creature besides repulsion. It was an interesting attraction and she lay on her bed, continuing to watch him.   
Other Orcs trickled in, limping to the corners and tending their wounds as best they could. She couldn’t be bothered to help them and continued to watch their leader’s chest rise and fall. 

In the morning, he awoke and looked mildly startled at her transformation. “I knew you weren’t human.” he said, coughing as the forgotten pain in his arm resurged.   
She stood over him, leaning down to put more paste on his arm. He didn’t flinch and looked at her wings. He reached his remaining hand toward the feathers, gently stroking one.

“Have you seduced me with your song?”

She smiled, “No.”

“I think you have.”

She wrapped a bandage around his arm, “I didn’t have to.”  
It was arousing that she didn’t have to seduce him, that he was laying before her, broken and weak. His power infatuated her, he was so unlike the male Sirens. He didn’t answer to anyone, least of all her, and didn’t let anything stand in his way.   
She leaned down, placing a kiss lightly on his lips. The feeling was foreign to him. Passion wasn’t something that Orcs engaged in, and now he had no idea why.   
Aysun’s wings shielded their romance from any prying eyes as she showed him exactly why Sirens are the masters of seduction. 

\--

The Orcs that had survived the battle were in no position to oppose the inclusion of Aysun into their clan. Her non-human form was unsettling enough to make them feel comfortable, and she sneered at them with the ferocity of a queen. It was uncustomary for Orc leaders to take wives, but no one questioned Azog. Their lives were more important than their opinions.   
Even Yazneg didn’t bother arguing. Especially when it was obvious that the Siren slut had gotten pregnant. Many Orcs didn’t know who their parents were, but Azog was fiercely proud of his young son and would have protected young Bolg with his life. But the need for self sacrifice was not upon them, nor were there many battles to fight. They had driven the Dwarves from the mountain, seemingly for good, and many of the Orcs had made homes in the caves, living peacefully until they were called to battle. 

It had been a long time since they had been called away from their home, but the calm was a welcome reprieve from the struggles and wounds of war. 

\--

 

Azog stood at the top of the bluff, watching the moon rise. His prosthetic arm, little more than a twisted pitchfork he had crudely jabbed into his arm, glinted in the moonlight. He could see the base of the mountain, and the entrance to the cave from his vantage point and everything seemed to be calm. The cool breeze danced across the tall grass, playing tricks on his mind. He thought he saw something scuttling toward the cave, but wrote it off as the wind.   
A single scream rang through the starry night, piercing through his heart as his pulse rocketed as he imagined the worst. He ran toward the entrance as quickly as his powerful legs would carry him, but the run seemed to go in slow motion and every scream echoed in his ear.   
One he reached the door to his home he tried to fling it open but was met with resistance. He smashed his body against the door, sending a chair splintering across the room. The entire inside was torn up, furs and herbs littered the stone floor. He ran across them, trampling anything that was between he and the sound. When he finally saw the cause of the destruction, he let out a horrid shout. Two Dwarves had managed to get in, looking for him obviously. One had Aysun pinned to the wall, a knife to her throat, shouting at her to give up Azog’s location.   
The other Dwarf whirled around when he heard the shout and threw an ax toward the giant Orc. Azog hit it away, and it embedded into a wooden beam. The Dwarf took a frightened step back as Azog rushed toward him. The small creature was no match for the Orc and Azog picked him up, slamming his back onto his knee. The sickening snap of his spine was lost in the shriek of the other Dwarf and he stabbed his blade through Aysun’s throat with a snarl. Azog screamed, grabbing the blade and pulling it out. It cut through his palm, but he didn’t feel the physical pain. Dropping the blade in favor of the Dwarf’s neck, he stabbed him viciously with his metal hand before unceremoniously tearing him in half. Dropping the pieces of the Dwarf to the ground, he turned back to Aysun. To his amazement, she was still alive. He quickly put his hand over the wound on her throat but blood leaked through his fingers.   
Tears ran freely from her eyes and she reached for him. Words tried to escape, but she choked on blood and pointed to the cupboard. “Bolg.” she managed to cough out.  
“He is alive?” he asked. It had been his assumption that the Dwarves would have killed the child first. 

She nodded and her eyelids fluttered. 

“No, keep your eyes open.” he said

She grimaced at the pain, “Goodbye, my love.”

“No.” he held her throat tighter, trying to stop the bleeding. “No. Stay.”

A peaceful look flooded her eyes and she released her last breath.   
Azog shook his head, “No….” he refused to believe that she was dead. “NO!” He shook her. Blood spattered her wings and she fell limp in his arms. He cradled her body closely and his silent tears washed the blood from her face. “Don’t leave me.” He whimpered, stroking her hair.   
His grief was interrupted by a shuffling in the cupboard and he lay her body down gently. Bolg stood behind him. He reached for Azog’s hand, eyes glued to his mother’s corpse. “Is she going to wake up?”

Azog scooped his son up, holding him to his chest, “No.” he said, choking on his sorrow, not wanting his son to see him weak. He walked away from the home he had shared with her, his complacency suddenly gone. The fire to kill the Dwarves had been reignited, and he intended to make them pay for the unspeakable pain they had caused him. His heart was a sealed vault, and never again would he let sentiment stand in the way of his duty.

**Author's Note:**

> Fyi: The "Original Female Character" is not based on me! She is based on a wonderful picture I found while wandering around on DeviantArt. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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